"Baseball, Hot Dogs and a Long-Ass Motorcycle Ride" page 5 (continued)
	I exited the highway and nearly missed my apartment, never having seen it covered by so much foliage before. I had been gone almost too long. I pulled into the driveway and was given a warm reception by a few mosquitoes. It was One AM, and even Anna was asleep. I hopped off my bike and jumped up and down, thrusting my fist into the warm mugginess of the early July morning air, muting my shouts of joy so as to not wake the neighbors. I cried for joy, I cried because I made it, and I cried because I did not want it to end. But my dream was over. All told, I racked up some decent numbers: 83 days, 28 baseball games, 30 ballparks (including the two new ones), 2 helmet face shields, 1 broken rearview mirror and two broken turn signals (all due to the bike falling down several times), three oil changes and one tune-up, five extra pounds of abdominal flab, 36 states, two Canadian provinces, and 16,236 miles on a 15 year-old motorcycle which broke down exactly zero times. In fact my problem was that I ran out of gasoline near Albany, New York on - get this! - the final day of my trip. I was obviously ecstatic that my little Virago, a bike that barely reaches 70 miles per hour downhill, never once faltered. As for the cost, I opted to not add up the expenses. How could I place a value on a priceless experience? If I did have a regret it was that I wasn’t able to share this adventure with anyone else. I was also disappointed I never caught a baseball at any of the games, but we should all be so lucky to have such regrets. Did my trip reveal any sort of singular truth about myself, Americans or this country? Not really. Aside from the obvious realization that this is an immense country, I found my trip fed (rather than quenched) my desire to travel. What a shame. Occasionally I look at a map of the United States on my wall and think about my incredible motorcycle adventure. I follow the path of the journey I have marked on the map, and sometimes my eyes fill with tears of pride. I look at that map and think, "I’ve been there," and can generally refer to most of this country. It is an almost overwhelming feeling, something akin to seeing the birth of a your first child, I imagine. But I know those tears also contain an equal amount of sadness, especially since I might never attain that same freedom in my life again. Still, I can’t complain; I was able to live out my dream for nearly three months. Looking back at that map on my wall, I realize there are an awful lot of roads I have yet to ride. Post script: Several months after completing the trip, I sold my motorcycle. It was very difficult to do considering the sentimental value of the bike, but it was for a good cause: I bought an engagement ring for Anna. It was one of the best things I’ve ever done. And though I currently do not own a bike, I will someday.
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